


You've Been Seeking (I've Been Hiding Out)

by Nibel



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alpha Gladiolus Amicitia, Alpha Noctis Lucis Caelum, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Beta Ignis Scientia, Denial of Feelings, Don't copy to another site, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Omega Prompto Argentum, Resolved Sexual Tension, Self-Esteem Issues, Sick Prompto Argentum, Worried Noctis Lucis Caelum, amount of chapters may change (as in more), slight praise kink mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-07-20 02:43:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19984741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nibel/pseuds/Nibel
Summary: Fill for theffxvkinkmeme.It's bad enough suffering through a heat that comes at theworst possible time, but keeping it from Noctis is turning out to be the real challenge.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A _billion_ years later, and I've _finally_ , **_finally_** finished this request. It's embarrassing, really, how long it's been a WIP, just a chapter away from finished...
> 
> But! My resolution this year was to only post stories that I've finished, and I'm sticking to it! (So far.)

Prompto's content.

The sun is shining, the top's down, and warm Duscaean air threads through his hair. The radio is nearly muted, some classical station Ignis tends to choose when his turn comes around, but instead of finding it boring, Prompto thinks it only works to complete the atmosphere.

Prompto untucks one hand from where it's crossed beneath his head, pillowing his chin against the car door. He lets his arm dangle outside the car, doing little waves in an attempt to mirror the breeze.

A small smile flickers to life on his lips. It's the most peaceful he's felt since that eventful morning when Ignis had brought in the paper, when Prompto himself had read, _'Insomnia Falls.'_

None of that matters in this moment, not when Imperials are far in their rear view, his friends are close, and the only thing that needs his attention is the bright light of the sun, freckling his face.

As if to mock him, a trickle of warmth between his legs snaps him _right_ out of his idle relaxation.

Prompto goes completely and utterly rigid, hardly daring to _breathe_ as horror slowly consumes him.

 _Please, no. **Astrals,** no._  
  
Much as he wishes this is simply his imagination, or something— _anything_ —else, such a slick, involuntary feeling—it can only mean one thing:

His heat's starting.

Frantically, Prompto's mind races. _It's too early!_ Right? But as he counts back, he realizes that with all the excitement, their road trip had been extended _far_ past the time Prompto had originally planned for. And he hadn't packed any suppressants because he thought'd he'd be back...by _now,_ actually.

But he _isn't_ home, he's miles and miles and _miles_ away, only getting _further_ in fact, and—and—

Prompto's freaking out.

It only takes a split second for all these thoughts, worries, and sheer panic to assault him. In the next, his mind only pleads _help._ Noctis and Gladio are out; as Alphas, the only help they can offer is—

Prompto refuses to think about it, only focused on the fact that it's _not_ happening. Which leaves—

Snapping upright and _praying_ the wind isn't carrying his scent backwards, Prompto twists to face Ignis, scared out of his mind.

Beta or not, Ignis startles and quickly meets Prompto's look, face a picture of shock.

 _Oh, no._ If _Ignis_ could smell him...?

Prompto risks a glance to the backseat. Gladio's still reading, dark eyes tracing the lines of the page. Noctis—is still asleep. Thank the _Gods._ Prompto's only _barely_ presenting, after all. Ignis is just the closest.

He catches Ignis' own look at the rearview mirror and can see his shoulders sag slightly in relief. His eyes slide over, expression exceedingly mild as he considers Prompto.

"I do believe a stop is in order," he announces, exiting off the highway.

"What's up?" Gladio asks. A moment later, there's a thump and a grunt from Noctis. "Wake up, Prince Charmless."

 _"What?"_ Noctis asks irritably. Prompto wants to look back, to see if Noctis is curling back up or glaring at Gladio, but he doesn't dare draw any attention to himself.

"All right, Ignis," Gladio resumes, "What's the hold up?"

Ignis adjusts his glasses with one gloved hand. "A long drive simply isn't in the cards this evening, I'm afraid."

"Yeah?" Curiosity's an effective motivator, enough to help rouse Noctis fully from his sleep. "Why not? It's only been a few hours. I thought we were driving all day?"

"Yes, well," Ignis holds up a can. "I slept poorly last night and Ebony, lovely and life-affirming it may be, isn't quite chasing away any lingering drowsiness. And it simply won't do to operate a vehicle when I'm not in perfect control of my faculties."

Mollified, Gladio and Noctis drop the subject, but not before Noctis offers to drive instead and Ignis turns him down with a polite yet firm, "Perhaps another time."

Prompto resists the urge to kiss Ignis, eyes slipping shut in relief. He _owes_ him, big time.  
  
The drive is excutiating. He's hyperaware of his body, practically willing himself to not ooze needy omega-ness all over the car. Once, Noctis leans forward with his phone, wanting to show Prompto his new King's Knight score. Panicked, Prompto faked a coughing fit in a desparate bid to maintain some distance.

He just wants to die.

The nearest rest stop is a small motel, just off a beaten dirt road from the main highway. In Prompto's eyes, it's Gods-sent.

He practically flies from the car the second Ignis parks, pretending to be excited to stretch his legs; he just happens to stretch several feet away, fidgeting.

"Prompto and I will procure rooms. Why don't the two of you retrieve our belongings?"

Noctis makes a grumbling comment about abuse of royalty, but a teasing remark from Gladio has him snatching up bags with a scowl.

Ignis and Prompto walk to the small office building, their footsteps awfully loud in the tense silence.

"Thanks, Iggy. Really."

"Make no mention of it," Ignis replies, pushing up his glasses. He glances over. "I take it that you do not have any medication?"

"No," Prompto admits, ashamed. "It's all back in Insomnia. I didn't think..."

"Well. Biology is hardly your fault. As always, we will make do. Please know if there's anything I can do to offer you assistance, you need only ask."

Grateful, Prompto nods. "I will, thanks."

Ignis shifts, looking to Gladio and Noctis, and steps just a bit closer, voice low.

"All things considered, it would be for the best if we did not tell Noctis of your...current condition. So much has happened, I already fear daily for his mental state. I wouldn't be surprised if he saw this as an opportunity to abandon his duty for a few stolen moments of pleasure." Ignis straightens, tugging his jacket down. "Of course, it won't come to that, and normally I'd expect Noctis to have more self-control, but right now I'm not quite sure..."

Prompto blinks, gobsmacked. Of all the things he thought Ignis would say about his heat...

"Uh...I'm more worried about making everyone uncomfortable, actually. I doubt Noctis would ever even look at me like that..."

Prompto can feel a blush growing on his face. Ignis looks at him for a long moment, expression strangely bland.

"Indeed," he says.

Prompto frowns, but that's all Ignis says on the matter. Prompto hangs back as Ignis gets their rooms and exchanges gil. He gives Prompto one of the old-fashioned keys with it's overlarge logo keychain.

"Your room is down the hall from ours, just as a precaution, although I'm only a phone call away should you need me or Gladio. Now, is there anything you'd like before you're bedridden?"

Flushing, Prompto nods, eyes on the key clutched in his hand. It's embarrassing, discussing his heat with _Ignis_ of all people, but compared to the alternative, he'll take it gladly.

"Yeah, um. Water bottles? A lot of them. And food I can leave out without spoiling. Like crackers, I guess?" Ignis nods, encouraging, and Prompto ventures shyly with, "Maybe extra pillows and blankets, if they have them?"

"Consider it done."

Prompto takes a few steps back, throwing a look at his friends. He bites his lip nervously, keys digging into his palm as he tightens his fist.

"How am I going to explain this to Noct?"

Looking as unruffled as ever, Ignis crosses his arms.

"Leave that to me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from [Waterfall.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W6e1TctNyw8)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter's up right away because I _love_ comments and v a l i d a t i o n~! 〜(꒪꒳꒪)〜

Noctis throws his bag on one of the twin beds and looks around. But it's just the three of them, and Gladio's only carrying his and Ignis's bags. Noctis frowns.

"Where's Prompto?"

Ignis adjusts his glasses. "Down the hall. Three is the maximum number of occupants they allow in any one room, and as Prompto's been feeling ill, I thought it best to give the single to him."

"He's sick?" Guilty, Noctis berates himself for being the worst best friend ever. He hadn't even noticed...

"It's nothing serious, simply a cold. A few days rest, and he should be right as rain," Ignis says confidently. After a moment, Noctis gives a reluctant nod of assent. Well, Iggy's never been wrong before...

"He gets a whole bed and bathroom to himself?" Noctis coughs into his fist. "You know, Iggy, I don't feel too good, either."

Gladio snorts, clapping Noctis on the shoulder as he passes, and tosses his bag next to Iggy's on the other bed.

"Nice try. But we all know you always look like that." Noctis scowls, but before he can retort, Gladio goes on to say, "Me and Iggy can share tonight if it'll shut your whining."

Noctis's mouth snaps shut, and though he's mollified, he's... _suspicious._ Gladio took any and every opportunity to turn something into a sparring match once they'd stopped for the night, like not swinging his sword at empty air would wipe away years of training. But he hadn't even _suggested_ they arm wrestle for the spare bed. By Gladio standards, it's practically _nice._

Trained to be bodyguards and loyal to the crown, Gladio and Ignis have excellent poker faces. But Noctis knows them better than they know themselves at times, and he _suspects._ They're clearly trying to appease him, keep him quiet so he won't ask questions, but he won't be fooled.

Something's up. And, considering the strange arrangement, it has something to do with Prompto.

Noctis pulls out his phone and sends Prompto a get well soon text. Then, he decides to let it go, for now. He trusts his friends, and if Ignis doesn't want to divulge something to Noctis, he has to believe it's for a good reason.

Gladio stretches, massive, corded arms reaching for the ceiling. Several pops echo in their small room and Noctis notices Ignis scrunch up his nose.

Gladio grins, arms falling heavily at his sides.

"You know, there's a fishing spot not far from here. It'll be a hike, but..."

Noctis's eyebrows fly up. If he wasn't suspicious before, he definitely is _now._ Out of everyone, Gladio hates fishing the _most_ and now he's suggesting it?

Oh, yeah. They're hiding something, all right. And all this effort...Noctis is _beyond_ curious.

He's being baited, but he allows it; he _does_ love fishing, and the opportunity is typically so rare.

Noctis shrugs. "Sounds good to me. Just let me get changed first."

They're probably feeling real proud of themselves. _Operation Distract Noctis_ is going swimmingly. Well, joke's on them, Noctis gets to go fishing, _and_ he's going to check on Prompto when he gets back, with or without Ignis's permission.

* * *

It's embarrassing how pleased he is, but he's now _officially_ nested. Ignis had gotten the inn to surrender a small mountain of blankets and pillows and now, with them piled and stacked just so for maximum awesome, he's confident it's the most comfortable place in the world. Perhaps it was a little overkill to make it on the bed but hey, it was Prompto's nest. He had no one to please but himself.

A happy sound leaves him as he sags back, cushioned by a perfectly placed pillow. He's warm, but it doesn't stop him from pulling a blanket over his shoulder as he rolls on his side. It's a cloying warmth, almost a weight in the air, but it's soothing, dragging his tired eyes to a weary, satisfied half-mast.

Desire sweeps through him in a sudden wave, fierce and aching. Prompto sucks in a sharp breath, hardly daring to breathe until it passes. The urge to reach down, to slake the longing _just a bit_ is powerful, but he resists, knowing well that it'll only make the burn worse, make it come again faster. And he's in no hurry to reach that awful peak of a heat, where he's dazed and delirious and almost drunk off his urges. It'll only make the next several days even more unbearable, and he wants to hold onto as much dignity as he can scrape together while Ignis is looking after him.

The thought alone has guilt coursing through him, makes him bury his head underneath the blanket. He _hates_ that this is happening. There's never really a _good_ time for a heat, but the timing for this one couldn't be worse. He's holding everybody up now, for practically a _week,_ when they really can't afford it. And how will they stretch the gil while they're here? Are there even any hunts around in such a tiny, desolate area?

His thoughts are melancholy, but they typically are when he's vulnerable like this. These new worries are a refreshing point of focus from the usual.

But they don't distract him for long.

 _Noctis._ He squeezes his eyes shut. Noctis is the _last_ person he needs to think about right now. This heat will be like any other, which means any thought of his best friend are shoved far, _far_ away.

When his feelings were still new, back in high school, he'd made the mistake of not restraining his imagination during his heat.

The heat had been great, but the next two weeks after were _awful._ He'd been so embarrassed he could hardly _look_ at Noctis without blushing, mortified and ashamed.

Why did Prompto have to be so greedy? Noctis being his best friend was the best thing that had ever happened to him, but then he had to turn around and want more. Talk about ungrateful.

He's told himself for years now that it would get better with time, but his feelings haven't waned. If anything, they've only grown _stronger._ But, in his defense, Noctis was kind, handsome, funny—just, for lack of a better word— _incredible._ The closer they've become, the more reasons Prompto's discovered for why Noctis owns his heart. Noctis...he's just someone who inspires love and devotion—and Prompto's the most devout of all. Thank the _gods_ he's become such a good actor.

 _Altissia._ He just has to focus on that. It had become his new mantra when he'd first learned of the betrothal. He'll see Noctis as he's always known he would, smiling at his beautiful bride, and would have closure. Heartbreaking, soul-wrenching closure, but closure nonetheless. Besides, Noct would be happy. What else can Prompto ask for?

Ignis's warning still rings faintly in his ears, makes him bite his lip. It's _ridiculous,_ the thought that Noctis would scent Prompto's heat and be anything other than embarrassed, but Ignis wouldn't have brought it up if it wasn't a genuine concern.

And that's even _crazier._ Seriously, it just doesn't make any sense. It's ridiculous just imagining that Prompto could make Noctis lose himself in the moment as instinct took over. His dark blue eyes swallowed by the black of his pupil, his arms—arms that Prompto's seen slay larger than life daemons and beasts alike with—holding him tightly, firmly, running across his body and his voice rough with passion, telling Prompto everything he's going to do to him—

Parts of his body are urgently _demanding_ his attention and Prompto rips himself from the mental images, flushed and panting. _Crap._ He broke his rule.

He swipes a water bottle from where it waits for him on the bedside table and takes several deep gulps. He screws the top on, tosses it aside, and falls back into the pile of blankets with a frustrated sigh, forearm tossed over his eyes as he frowns mightily. Another wave of heat washes over him and he firmly recites the multiplication tables in his head, flashes of dark blue eyes making him stutter and restart more than once.

 _Ugh._ Worst heat _ever._


	3. Chapter 3

Before, the _'Keep Noctis happy and distracted'_ game was fun, amusing even.

But it's been _days_ since he's seen Prompto. Prompto barely responds to his texts, straight-up _doesn't_ answer when Noctis calls, and whenever Noctis asks why he never leaves his room he just responds: _cuz im super gross dude :p_  
  
Ignis is maddeningly obtuse when Noctis questions him about how Prompto's doing or why he can't see him. He's never appreciated Ignis's diplomacy skills less.

And then there's _Gladio._ Gladio, who wakes Noctis up early every morning and decides that Noctis is suddenly in unacceptable shape. Gladio, who makes him run at the asscrack of dawn, forces him to spar after breakfast, and drags him what feels like half a world away to fulfill hunts. Fucking _Gladio,_ who doesn't let up until Ignis has dinner ready, so that Noctis is too exhausted to question anything.

And _sure,_ Noctis is the Prince, he could just refuse, or order them to stop. But they grew up together and Gladio knows _all_ of his buttons. They're both fiercely competitive people and Gladio needles Noctis into whatever he wants to do every time; Noctis knows he's being goaded but he can't help but respond to Gladio's taunts, that stupid smirk the most annoying sight on all of Eos.

He knows he's being manipulated and that just pisses him off more.

All Noctis has been doing these past few days is wake up early, train, shower, stuff his face, sleep, and repeat.

Noctis isn't an idiot, despite what his retainers seem to think. _Obviously,_ this is to keep him away from his _own best friend_ who's been a no-show for too long now; who's apparently too sickly to even pick up his phone. So sick that Noctis can't even pop into his room and say hi, each attempt derailed by Ignis as if he has some Prince-motion detector just outside Prompto's door.

Ignis, and sometimes even Gladio, however, have _no problem_ bringing Prompto his meals and fetching his dirty dishes, mysteriously immune to whatever flesh-eating disease that causes them to bar him from Prompto's door.

The _'you might catch his cold'_ argument was sound the first time, but made less and less sense each day. Sure, Ignis and Gladio's job was, essentially, to protect him as the future King, but he hardly needs protection from whatever's laid Prompto up; if after this long Ignis hasn't seen fit to go to a hospital, how bad can it truly be?

Not _that_ bad, Noctis is sure of it. And as time passes and he's still left in the dark, some small part of him whispers from deep, deep down, _he knows._

The thought only grows louder each day; it keeps him on the verge of breaking into a cold sweat at any moment.

It's ridiculous; over five years of strictly platonic interaction, Noctis knows he has hasn't somehow managed to slip up and betray himself in the few weeks they've been on the road together. He's too seasoned at stifling that part of himself to give it away now.

... _But._ What else could it be? Despite knowing better, Noctis finds himself furiously combing over every past interaction and conversation, looking for even the slightest misstep. It would even make sense, too. If somehow Noctis messed up, maybe stared too long or said something that pushed the boundaries of friendship, he could totally see Prompto deciding to avoid him. He knows Prompto, which is the main reason why he never _said_ anything.

After all, he'd never stood a chance. Between the revolving door of crushes Prompto kept up during high school and how completely hopeless Noctis is when it comes to dealing with or talking about emotions, he was pretty much doomed from the start. Besides, the chance of losing Prompto once he confessed was too great to risk his one, precious friend.

But now what if all that hiding and agonizing was for nothing? Prompto was hardly the confrontational type and faking being sick and insisting Noctis specifically stay away—well, it isn't a far-fetched theory, that's all.

Between all the training, Noctis spends his days convincing himself he hasn't lost his best friend, and his nights sure that Prompto will never speak to him again.

He tires of the routine quickly. Something's got to give.

Whatever secret everyone's hiding, he's done with being left in the dark, oscillating constantly between annoyance and worry. Whatever's wrong with Prompto, he deserves the truth.

And he's getting it tonight, one way or another.

* * *

Prompto's miserable. And he really only has himself to blame.

 _I'm an idiot._  
  
That first night, when Ignis had offered to purchase a few 'relief aides' Prompto about died then and there, so consumed with mortification he'd seriously considered strangling himself with a sheet just to get away from the conversation.

 _Relief aides._ It was a nice way to dress up the phrase 'sex toys', but no less embarrassing.

Ignis was only being practical, after all. Objectively, Prompto could see that. But—the thought of Ignis buying him sex toys aside, _gods_ —he didn't want Ignis spending their hard-earned gil on something so frivolous. Besides, where would they keep them anyway? Between the camping gear and their packs, the Regalia was at max capacity already and it would be too much of a waste to use them once and toss them afterward. Prompto figured he could manage.

Now, however, he furiously curses Past Prompto for being such a stupid fucking _idiot._ The heat's in full swing now, all-consuming and draining and Prompto is possessed by a determination he didn't have when Ignis made his wonderful, _amazing_ suggestion; he'd keep everything shoved up his ass to _Altissia_ and back if it meant a little relief.  
  
Trembling all over, Prompto manages to reach one of the water bottles Gladio had left him. It's ice-cold in his hands, soaked in condensation, but enough of it's melted that he can sip from it.

He manages to spill it anyways, desperate to get something cool into his overheated body, but most of it goes down his throat instead of the sheets and he takes the wins where he can get them these days. He screws the lid on and passes the bottle over his blazing forehead and the scorching skin of his neck and chest; praise the _Astrals_ Gladio switched his normal bottles for frozen ones before they went to bed.

Cooled somewhat, Prompto manages to put the bottle back with the others on the bedside table, although not without effort. By the time he gets it right, just on the edge but at least not tipping over, he flops back down, exhausted.

Panting, ignoring the slick, smooth slide of his thighs, Prompto stares at the ceiling as loneliness—an annoying old friend—creeps in.

Ignis and Gladio have been great, really. But they both respect the private nature of his situation and keep their visits very brief, long enough to refresh blankets and water and food, but not a second later. Ignis has other duties, anyway, cooking and cleaning and budgeting and just generally making sure they won't die a week out since they only have each other to rely on. He's busy enough without trying to babysit Prompto on top of it.

And Gladio—well, self-control of steel or not, it was best not to torture the poor guy. Not that he'd ever be tempted by someone so skinny and pasty and only sprouting more freckles with each day they spent outside—but _still._ Expecting an Alpha to keep him company when even his scent screamed, _Hey! Look at me! I'm dying without you! Do something, touch me now, now, nownownownownownow **now!**_

—Well, it was just rude, honestly.

So, yeah, he's feeling a bit lonely when he only sees his friends in small snatches of time, usually in the span of seconds. But really, he misses Noctis more than anything else.

Prompto rolls over, covering the lower half of his face as he curls his arms underneath his pillow, the heat just barely stronger than the wave of melancholy that washes over him.

This isn't even about his dumb feelings for him; it just sucks that his own biology is keeping him from seeing his best friend. Time's slipping through his fingers, made infinitely more precious by the looming, inevitable meeting with Lady Lunafreya at the end of their journey.

A flicker of misery and hurt makes him wince as a sudden thought occurs to him: When will Prompto even see Noctis again? Marriage is like, a really big deal, especially when the whole world is depending on it to bring peace. Sure, the Empire has proven themselves to be as bloodthirsty as ever, but that doesn't mean people aren't still looking forward to the marriage or still expecting it. And isn't that what being royalty means? Following expectations and doing what the people want?

Noctis...at the end of the day, he's destined to be a _King._ It's just common sense that Prompto doesn't have a place in that future. He's lucky Noctis likes him enough to ensure he could tag along on the most fucked-up bachelor party-slash-road-trip ever, and even luckier King Regis decided to humor his presence.

Unbidden, Prompto feels the sting of hot tears prick his eyes and he scowls.

"Stop it," he whispers harshly. "This is nothing to cry about." This was always how it would end. He's known this for years, so what good was bawling about it?

Prompto clenches his teeth against the next flush of heat that rolls through him, twitching and gasping and exhausted.

He shudders and curls up into as small of a ball as he can manage, holding onto his upper arms desperately, just trying to keep himself together and not fall apart all over these soft blankets.

This is already more than he deserves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope ya'll like pining! ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's about to get _real_ obvious I was born and raised in the South.
> 
> ((also, thank you all so much for being so patient with this update! I'm working crazy hours and I'm participating in a writing event under my other psued, so I've been cranking out a different project whenever I've got the time; however, all your comments were super encouraging, and I'm thinking about adding an extra chapter because of them. thank you so much!))

Once Gladio's breathing evens out to match Ignis's, Noctis peels his eyes open, peeking surreptitiously.

As he thought, his retainers are out cold, tired after a long hunt all three of them had started that morning and only finished just before nightfall. Coeurls were a massive headache, but Noctis found cause to be grateful for them today.

After returning with proof of the hunt, Noctis had hung back while Ignis and Gladio collected the reward money, idly perusing the weapons a hunter was selling out of a caravan.

Noctis had only been looking, realizing belatedly that he was staring at the guns and wondering which one Prompto would pick—if he were there.

Thoughts of his best friend put him in a bad mood these days, nearly sick with worry and frustration, and he'd jerked his eyes away, eager to look at literally _anything_ else.

That's when he noticed the small vials, each filled with a strange, deep purple powder.

The hunter working the stall noticed Noctis gaze.

"Interested?" she'd asked.

"What are they?"

"Damn hard to come by, I'll tell you that right now!" At Noctis's look of interest, she nodded, absently scratching her neck.

"This was three, three and a half weeks ago?" she said, eyes faraway. "Coupl'a killer bees were hassling some folks near Old Lestallum so I take the hunt, right? Nothin' I ain't ever seen before and I could always use the money.

"Well I find the nest, yeah? Easy enough, and there's only five, and I'm thinkin', I got this in the bag." She'd thrown her hands out, eyes hard and laser-focused on Noctis—bracing him or herself, he hadn't been sure, "I _shit you not,_ out of nowhere, these little ones come out, covered in this stuff, and don't take too kindly to me swinging my axe around."  
  
She'd shrugged, but she had a smile of fond remembrance on her face. "Can't for the life of me tell ya what happened next. One of 'em gets too close, I get a whiff of this stuff sticking to em and—" She snapped her finger. "I'm out. Just like that. I was there with my boy Lester, though, so that's why I'm standing here instead of waiting for someone to find my body, stung to all hell and too swollen to get tags off of."

Noctis could only blink, just barely able to keep up with the rollercoaster of a story. "...Sounds like you were lucky."

"Reckon I was. Second time, though, I was prepared. Plugged my nose and they were no problem. Turned out the little ones were babies and this stuff here," she pointed at the vials, "was pollen. Normally, those bee stings are potent enough to poison you faster than a voretooth can bite, but the babies can't make it yet. Instead, they make this stuff that just knocks ya out, and the pollen they collect gets contaminated with it. _That's_ what laid me out. Figured I could make a few gil selling it; might come in handy if you disturb a different nest or need something in a pinch."

Noctis had eyed the little bottles with renewed interest, a plan already hatching in his brain.

"So...it's like a sleeping pill, basically."

"Yup. 'Cept _way_ stronger."

Noctis had glanced over and known he only had _seconds_ before Ignis and Gladio wrapped things up and joined him. They _absolutely_ could not know he was buying this.

"How much?"

"For this?" She considered. "Hm...three hundred gil."

Pretty steep, but if it really was as effective as she said, it was worth a lot more. Luckily, Noctis had a little gil of his own from the pool Ignis made them all keep on their person—both for emergency situations and they were separated and to keep them all from begging him for spending money each time they came to a town.

Noctis forked over the gil and had the small vial stashed away by the time Ignis and Gladio came sauntering over, the reward money no doubt stowed away somewhere safe and secure on Ignis's person.

"Are you done here?"

"Yeah," Noctis had agreed, walking to the Regalia. "I'm starved. Can we stop by the Crow's Nest?"

Ignis had sighed long-sufferingly and Noctis knew he was scott-free.

Now, Noctis silently rises from bed, tense and listening intently for even the slightest change in either of their breathing.

The task is made harder still by his deep, _passionate_ love affair with sleeping. His warm sheets beckon almost teasingly, enticing in a way nothing else can ever measure up to. Keeping himself awake while curled up in a warm bed in a dark, quiet room—it's _easily_ the hardest thing he's ever done.

 _For Prompto,_ he tells himself. Gods, he better appreciate it.

Slowly, he fishes the vial of pollen from his pocket, practically tip-toeing to the other bed.

Gladio's chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, arm tucked beneath his head and legs splayed. Ignis is half-buried beneath his pillow, brown hair falling over his eyes and mouth slightly parted. He's even worse than Gladio tonight, easily spilling over his side of the bed with how his arms and legs are tossed about inelegantly, and Noctis has to bite his lip against the laugh that threatens to bubble up; later, he can laugh.

Noctis carefully pries the cork from the small glass vial, careful to hold his breath and doing it slowly so he doesn't disturb the contents. That done, he summons an antidote from the armiger.

He's had all afternoon to think this through. There's always a risk when it comes to things like this, and despite how annoying they've been, Noctis _will_ care if he somehow manages to poison his friends.

There's also the risk that the hunter had lied to him and intentionally wanted him to hurt either himself or them—but Noctis really doubts it. She didn't exactly scream 'Imperial Secret Agent'; and, _sure,_ perhaps that was the _point,_ but when had the Empire ever been subtle?

Noctis takes a deep breath, holds it, and lightly sprinkles a bit of the pollen over Gladio and Ignis's faces, half-terrified.

He only uses a little and pulls back and stoppers it quick enough, noting how the pollen settles and slowly disappears; _definitely magic._

Noctis stares down, waiting for some horrific rash to spring up on their skin, or maybe for them to wake up screaming and writhing in agony.

But nothing happens. To be safe, Noctis waits ten minutes, then twenty, then thirty—just to be completely sure. He cautiously reaches out, pokes Gladio, and instantly backs away. Gladio doesn't move.

"Gladio," Noctis whispers, but still nothing. Noctis raises his voice to speaking level. "Gladio."

Nothing.

"Ignis! I poured out all of your Ebony!" he yells. Ignis doesn't instantly rise with the burning fury of Ifrit. He continues to sleep peacefully, face smooth of any worry or concern.

Noctis's brows raise. He gives a low whistle, impressed as he considers the pollen.

 _"Definitely_ worth the gil," Noctis murmurs.

Just to be super extra sure, he reaches out and checks their pulse. Nothing out of order there either, neither too fast or too slow to be alarming, only the steady, sure beat of bodies at rest.

Relieved, Noctis casts them one last glance, then swipes Prompto's room key from where Ignis had stashed it in his bedside drawer. He leaves the room and locks up behind him.

As much as Noctis wishes he could claim to be completely confident in his every decision, unwavering once he'd committed, unfortunately, he's not his father. A part of him worries that he's over-reacting, that he might have just poisoned Ignis and Gladio because he was too curious for his own good.

But this is _Prompto._ Noctis's best friend. His _only_ friend. And while he considers Ignis and Gladio his friends, it isn't that simple. They are that, but they're also Shield and Advisor, raised nearly from birth to serve him. They're equals, but not. Comrades in arms, yet superior and subordinates.

Prompto's entirely removed. He's just...Prompto. Fun-loving, kind, happy, easy-going, snarky, patient—everything Noctis would have wished for in a friend if he'd had a childhood that allowed something as frivolous as daydreaming.

Prompto came into his life without any of the doubts that used to plague him over whether the people in his life would care about him nearly as much if he wasn't the Prince; with Prompto he _knows_ it doesn't matter. Titled or not, Prompto's here to stay.

That's what Noctis had _thought,_ anyways. He'd _thought_ they didn't keep secrets from each other, yet here they are. They haven't seen each other in _days_ despite Prompto being _right down the hall,_ and he suddenly doesn't want Noctis near him. Plus, he hasn't responded to any of Noctis's texts all day which _never_ happens— _ever._

So maybe Noctis _is_ over-reacting. He doesn't care. If Prompto's hiding something from him, it either means Prompto doesn't trust him, or Noctis has failed as his friend. Either way, nothing will get solved with Noctis being kept at arm's length.

Whatever it is, he can handle it.

Quietly, Noctis pads down the cement walkway towards Prompto's room, casting a glance across the parking lot.

Like everything in the country, the building and surrounding area is well-lit—for good reason. In the distance, too far to discern in detail but still too close for comfort, Noctis can spot the glow of daemons from here. But even if the lights failed, the moon is out in force, full and round and casting a glowing blue light across the sky. The light illuminates his steps and softens the shadows.

It takes seconds for Noctis to reach Prompto's room and he hesitates, unsure. He feels a little guilty he's about to disturb a potentially sick person in the middle of the night, and there's always a chance that really _is_ all there is to the story and he went through all this effort for _nothing—_

 _No._ Prompto's hiding something, Noctis knows it.

As silently as he can, he twists the key in the lock and slowly opens the door, wary of any squeaks that might give him away.

All thoughts of subterfuge, however, are washed away in the next second, the doorknob drifting away from his slack fingers as he goes rigid in shock. The door falls wide open and allows moonlight to illuminate what Noctis already knows he'll see.

It's the scent that gives it away. Thick and cloying, sweet and carrying the turbulent emotional distress of an Omega in heat. Desperation, need, sadness—all of it hits Noctis with the force of a freight train, completely blindsiding him. He actually _physically_ staggers, overwhelmed and shocked.

His face goes red once he sees a form shifting on the bed. His first instinct is to apologize, thinking he must have surely gotten the wrong room, that's he's intruded on someone's very private moment, but in the next moment, the person speaks, voice rasping and faint and so, so familiar.

 _"Mm_...? Whoizzit?"

It's _Prompto. Prompto's_ the sweet-smelling Omega in heat, it's _Prompto_ who's sitting up from the thick, luxurious pile of blankets and pillows on the bed. _Prompto_ who's hair is sleep mussed, _Prompto_ who's flushed so nicely, _Prompto_ who's sweaty body is glistening in the moonlight, _Prompto_ who's very, very blue eyes are meeting his—

Noctis is a _gone; e_ verything suddenly makes a lot of sense.

 _Of course._ Noctis had known Prompto was an Omega, obviously. Even if he'd wanted to wait for Prompto to tell him himself, the background check that'd been slapped on his breakfast table the day after they'd first become friends had taken away any chance of mystery.

But it wasn't something they talked about. Noctis didn't really care about that stuff—why worry when he was destined to marry someone who would be picked out for him? And it seemed to make Prompto uncomfortable, so it didn't really come up.

There were just certain days Prompto couldn't hang, and Noctis wouldn't press him too hard. Four or five days later, they were back to eating curly fries and binging cheesy horror movies in his apartment.

And, sure, he'd be lying if he denied _ever_ thinking it; his ruts were far less frequent but all the more potent and he didn't have the control to keep a tight lid on certain desires. Desires to see Prompto underneath him, gasping his name, flushed skin his to explore, the column of his neck bared so shyly, so openly, _begging_ for him—

But it was whatever. Being an Omega was just a small part of Prompto, and nothing to obsess over. As long as they could still hang, it didn't have to change anything. No big deal.

Except—it _was_ a big deal A _very_ big deal, now that he's getting his first whiff.

That moment of shock stretches out for Noctis what feels like a small _eternity._ Then, Prompto blinks and his eyes get _very_ big. His mouth drops open in a silent exclamation of shock and Noctis can see how he freezes, every muscle going taught.

"N-Noct...?!" Prompto's voice, so vulnerable and faint, trembling over the word, saying Noctis's _name_ in that _voice—_  
  
Noctis has no memory of moving. Only, one moment he's standing half in the hallway, and in the next he's simply _there,_ one hand at the top of the headboard over Prompto's head, clutching tight, the other coming up to grasp Prompto's chin, tilting his head up so Noctis can see up close how perfect he is in this moment.

_"Prompto..."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your comments! All of your reactions to the cliffhanger had me cackling, tysm.

Prompto's dreaming. He _must_ be. It's the only way he can rationalize Noctis, _here,_ at his door—looking at him like _that._

He doesn't even have time to _blink,_ Noctis moves so fast. One moment, he's standing in the doorway, the light of the moon spilling around him. In the next, he's _gone._ He hears the faint, cascading shatter of crystal as Noctis summons a weapon from the armiger, there's the crack of magic, and he has to squint his eyes against the harsh, bright blue-purple of Noctis's after-image.

The next sound is a second, much _louder_ burst of fractured crystal, practically right in his ears, and a jarring, splintering crack.

Flinching, it feels utterly surreal to see Ignis's dagger sunk several inches deep into the headboard. It's probably going through the wall.

With wide eyes and a suddenly racing heart, everything comes into sharp clarity and Prompto _knows_ —  
  
_I'm not dreaming._   
  
Noctis bursts back into existence before the thought's fully formed, one hand clenched tight around the dagger. He's practically straddling Prompto as he leans over him, and his hooded eyes glow vibrant purple in the darkness. The look in them makes Prompto swallow one second, then shiver the next when Noctis reaches out and tilts Prompto's head up so that their lips are barely a breath away.

_"Prompto,"_ he breathes, his voice wondering, a rough, deep and dark rasp Prompto's _never_ heard before.

Noctis's scent crashes over him, heady and thick, reeking of desire and strength. Prompto almost sinks headlong into it, it's so seductive. One deep breath, and he's completely saturated in Noctis, a balm to his pain, water to his blistering fire, Alpha to his Omega. Noctis leans close and he's helpless to mirror him, his entire body crying out for the relief he's been craving for days, now tantalizingly in reach. All his to touch, to lick, to taste...

Their lips are a hairsbreadth away from touching when those eyes catch his—glowing, powerful, _other_ —and the last vestiges of his common sense remind him exactly _who_ this Alpha is.

Shocked, disoriented, and mortified that he came so close to losing control, Prompto yanks himself back, one hand securing the sheet over his hips, the other scrabbling backward against the bed to better help him lean away.

"No!" He yells, panicked. When Noctis tries to close the distance again, he insists, "Stop! Noct—we _can't!"_  
  
_Finally,_ Noctis seems to hear him. His eyes dim as lucidity creeps back in, but he doesn't go red and embarrassed like Prompto expects. Instead, he just looks irritable and confused.

"Why not?" he asks, like there aren't a _million_ reasons why.

Prompto sputters, lost for words. Noctis was supposed to come to his senses and just _know._  
  
_"Why_ —? You—!" Prompto's too tired, too stressed, and _waaaaay_ too naked to be dealing with this. "What are you—?! You're not supposed to _be_ here!"

Noctis huffs, frustrated. "Yeah, what was _that?_ _You_ were ignoring me and Ignis and Gladio kept freezing me out whenever I asked about you."

Prompto blushes, thankful for the scant light. "Hey, look, I...it's not like I've been having the time of my life over here, dude. And I'm sorry for ignoring you— _dick move,_ I know, but like, now you know, all right? You _really_ can't be here with me right now."

Ignis's words flash back to him, a memory he's revisited often since the start of his heat. Prompto looks away, fists tightening in the sheets.

"I don't want us to do something we'll regret," he says quietly. "And, um, my self-control isn't great right now."

"I don't mind," Noctis says, creeping further up the bed. Prompto's heart jumps to his throat.

"Dude, seriously!" Prompto throws out a hand, keeping it locked straight and firm on Noctis's chest to maintain some distance.

Annoyance comes back to Noctis's face, but Prompto can also see the hurt there, too. It makes Prompto's chest twinge with guilt, but he assures himself Noctis will thank him in the morning, when he stops thinking like an Alpha and more like himself.

"I don't see why not," Noctis pushes stubbornly. Doubt flickers across his face. "Unless...you don't want me...?" He sniffs the air, easily scenting the tidal waves of pheromones Prompto can't control, all screaming _I want you, here, **now.**_

_Kill me,_ Prompto pleads to any of the Six merciful enough to answer him.

But his pleas go unanswered and, despite the scant light, Prompto can still make out how blown Noctis's pupils are when their eyes meet.

"I want _you,"_ he says lowly.

Prompto's mouth is bone dry; why is Noctis making this so _hard?_

"I-I'm not helpless," Prompto defends. "I've had plenty of heats on my own, I don't need any help."

"But you want me to, right?"

_Oh, gods._ He definitely, _definitely_ wants him to.  
  
Noctis strains forward and Prompto has to place both hands on his chest just to keep him away.

"I'm here _now."_

Prompto doesn't think he's been more tempted by anything in his _life._ But...he doesn't want this; at least, not like _this,_ not some easy, quick tumble that they'll have to pretend never happened once it's over. And honestly, he's a little hurt—not to mention offended—that Noct's been so quick to treat this whole situation so casually. Prompto's feelings aside, he has to wonder if Noct's always treated Omegas with the entitled arrogance of both an Alpha and a Prince...

Lips pressed tight, Prompto glances away and shrugs, unable to look up.

"Well, _I_ kind of want the first person I share my heat with to still be there in the morning," he says, wishing Noctis would just _go._ "Guess I'm old fashioned like that."

"Obviously I'll be here, Prom," Noctis says. "You're basically my bodyguard."

The heat that goes through Prompto then has nothing to do with desire or embarrassment. Anger, indignant and righteous, sweeps through him, giving him the strength to glare at Noctis full-on.

"Then I guess that's not enough for me!" Prompto practically yells. Noct's taken-aback expression isn't even satisfying, he's so upset. "I want more than that, okay? I want...I want that person to actually _care_ about me, and like, you know...love me..." he confesses, suddenly feeling self-conscious and stupid. He probably sounds like such a kid...

Prompto shakes his head, then gives Noctis a firm push, relieved when Noctis gives—the only relief he's sure to feel tonight.

Another wave of heat washes over him and Prompto winces against it, miserably drawing the sheet and his knees up to wrap his arms around them.

He turns his head to face the wall and mumbles, "You can't give me that, Noct, so...can you just go? Please?"

Prompto waits for Noctis to slide off the bed. He waits to hear the click of the door so he can fall apart in peace, to berate himself for giving up his only chance to have one night with the person he loves.

But Noctis doesn't leave. Very quietly, he asks, "What if I can?"

At first, Prompto only greets the words with blank confusion. But when they register, and he feels hope blooming in his chest, he resolves firmly to Not Think About It.

He can't _afford_ to let himself hope. The disappointment's already going to be crushing without letting his imagination run away from him.

Slowly, Prompto looks to Noctis, staring warily. Noctis, however, simply watches back, expression more serious that Prompto's seen—at least aimed his way. His heart lurches painfully.

"...What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean, Prom," Noctis says, crawling slowly back towards Prompto. This time, he doesn't stop him, though Noct doesn't come as close as before.

For the first time tonight, Noctis expression isn't either lustful or annoyed. Prompto can see nervousness peek through, in the way he doesn't meet his eyes for longer than a moment, how he seems to steel himself before he looks up. He's blushing.

"Prompto, I'm..." Noctis scratches the back of his head, eyes darting between Prompto and the bedspread. "I, uh..."

Prompto leans a little closer, utterly fixated on Noctis, heart racing. In a sudden reversal, he's the one trying to catch Noctis's eyes. "Yeah?"

Noctis closes his eyes, lets out a low, slow breath, releasing the faint signs of anxiety with it. He opens his eyes, looking at Prompto with firm determination.

He says, "Prompto. I'm—I'm in love with you, okay? I have been for a long time now, actually."

A complete, unmoving hush settles for a long moment as Prompto tries to absorb that. Tries to _breathe._

"Whuh?" Prompto manages, reeling. His voice sounds very far away.

He'd hoped, of course. Hoped in the way a child hopes their parents will patch things up, or that a heartfelt letter to the king will end the war; innocently, foolishly, futilely.

Hearing Noctis say those words, though— _logically,_ he heard them, he _knows_ what all those words mean separately, but for the life of him, he can't _understand_ them together, coming from Noctis's lips.

Noctis charges through, the set of his mouth grim; a man who's already in the thick of it and resolved to see it through, no matter the consequences.

"I didn't say anything because—you're my best friend, Prom, my only friend, and I didn't want to make things weird. But maybe I hurt you anyways by not saying anything, by keeping secrets. So. Yeah." He shrugs, but the jerky, awkward movement is far from casual.  
  
"I've had feelings for you probably since the day we met, honestly, and I can't picture my life without you, and I think you're amazing, and like," and here he doesn't even _pretend_ to make eye contact, his words coming out in a rush, "You're one of the few really good things in my life, and I just—I can _breathe_ and be normal around you and I count on you to support me and believe in me and every time I see you it reminds me that everything's going to be okay, and I—I understand if you don't feel the same way and I don't want to stop being friends but if you need space I get it, and I know that's kind of impossible right now, but—" his head jerks up, pleading eyes staring straight into Prompto's _soul—_ "Just _please_ don't leave, okay? I _promise_ I can be normal—"

"Waitwaitwaitwaitwait!" Prompto cries out, arms reaching out this time to grasp Noctis by his shoulders. His face is hot enough to boil an _egg,_ he's sure, and it's a struggle to speak past the golfball-sized lump in his throat.

Obediently, Noctis's mouth slams closed, his wide eyes watching Prompto with honest-to-gods _fear,_ as if he has _anything_ to lose in this situation.

For a moment, they simply stare at each other in tense, electric silence. Surprise, guilt, bewilderment, embarrassment, joy, excitement, anxiety, _love_ —all of it whips around Prompto like a maelstrom, each as strong as the last, and even through all of Noct's pleading, _I'm in love with you_ keeps replaying in his head on loop, jarring him anew with each repeat.

Prompto's breath shudders in his chest.

"I— _why?"_ he settles on, not at all what he meant to say but the only thing he _can_ say.

Prompto—he's nobody. The pleb, the Nif refugee, the jokester. What does he have to offer Noctis but a few laughs, some amateur selfies?

Noctis blinks, as if that's the last thing he expected Prompto to say.

But then he just— _sags._ Not in relief, exactly, but his smile is rueful. He shakes his head.

"Prom," he says, and his voice is so soft Prompto feels tears prick his eyes.

Noctis moves close, but slowly, carefully, without any of the heat and intent of before. He gets close enough to straddle Prompto, boots and all, and cradles Prompto's cheeks in either hand like he's something precious.

Looking down into his eyes, Noctis smiles. It's small, but honest and happy and a sore sight to see after the last few weeks they've had.

"Why _not?"_ Noctis asks, simply, sounding helpless. Like he honestly can't think of a reason why he wouldn't fall for Prompto. Like this, _any_ of this, made sense. Like it's _obvious._  
  
Prompto can feel his face crumbling unattractively and he purses his lips tight, squeezes his eyes shut even tighter, and shakes his head, overwhelmed and upset and bruised, and he _knows_ he needs to pull himself together, he knows the last thing Noctis needs to deal with is his _neediness,_ but he can't help it, Noct's too close, he's saying all this _stuff_ and he's not taking it _back—_

"You _can't,"_ he says miserably, hating how unsteady his voice comes out. "You—I—," Prompto swallows, voice dropping to barely a whisper, even now feeling guilty for voicing these thoughts even though Noctis reciprocates, "I— _Obviously,_ I feel the same way—" Noctis draws in a sharp breath— "But you _can't_ like me—I—I've been so _good,_ I tried to pretend I didn't and now you say _this_ and _ruin it—!"_  
  
_"Good,"_ Noctis interrupts fiercely, surging even closer, bringing their foreheads together. "You don't have to pretend for another _second_ —Gods, why did we take so _long?"_  
  
"Noct," Prompto stops him because _someone_ has to be practical, "You're a king," he reminds him softly, gently, hating the words but needing to say them nonetheless, "And I'm nobody. It's...it's just not possible."

Noctis looks incensed, eyes blazing. _"I_ say it's possible."

Tiredly, Prompto's shoulders sag, his eyes close. "What about Luna?" he reminds him, feeling hollow.

Noctis scoffs.

"We're going to Altissia to make sure she's all right and protect her from the _Niffs,_ Prom. A wedding's definitely not gonna happen since they lied from the beginning. ...And yeah," he admits after a pause, "I probably will have some explaining to do, but I really don't think she'll take the news too hard. We're friends. Good friends, but that's it. It's hard to get close to someone with just a few letters and a continent between us. And even then, our duties kept us apart. It's happening now." Noctis shakes his head, looking down at Prompto with fond happiness.

"Luna's great, but she's not my best friend." Noctis's smile grows. "She's not you."

What is he even supposed to say to that? A thousand denials surge to his lips, the endless reasons why he'll never be good enough, why this is a mistake, but one look into Noctis's eyes make the words impossible. He struggles for a second, frantically grasping for something to say.

"O-oh," he rasps. It's the only sound he feels capable of now.

"If you're _done,"_ Noctis says, as if Prompto's been endearingly naive, a delay he'd fondly endured simply because _Prompto would be Prompto,_ "Will you let me take care of you now?" he asks, voice dipping low.

As if on command, heat flares up beneath his skin, reminding both of them that Prompto is _very much_ still in the throes of his heat, a fire content to be ignored for a moment now roaring back with a vengeance.

Prompto shivers, still not completely convinced this isn't just a really, _really_ good dream.

But, he decides after a moment, if it is, he's going all in. Like Noctis said, _why not?_

After a final moment of hesitation, Prompto gives the smallest of nods. His hand loosens its death-grip on the sheets and he slides it up to cover Noctis's, leaning into his palm. He lets himself relax into his touch, feeling a few hot tears finally fall, no longer in need of the painful vigilance that kept them contained. He's so, so relieved.

"I love you, too," Prompto whispers.

Noctis responds by kissing the _soul_ out of him, as if trying to take his next breath directly from the air in Prompto's lungs. There's a passion and depth in his touch that even Prompto—with his breath-taking skills in self-deprecation—can't ignore, and it crumbles the last wall of defense Prompto has, the one that was built high and firm with disbelief.

Prompto sighs into it, meeting Noctis with just as much feeling, with all the pent-up desire and longing and happiness he can take, and then a little more besides.

After a small eternity of kissing, when Prompto's next shiver comes from a wave of heat washing over him, Noctis breaks their kiss to move to Prompto's neck, lips smooth and tongue hot every time it laves at his skin to soothe each painful mark he leaves behind.

"I'm sorry I kept you waiting," Noctis murmurs, voice a deep rumble. He slides a hand to the nape of Prompto's neck to guide him, feasting on his skin like the most decadent of banquets. "You've been hurting all this time, haven't you?"

Prompto whines, already so overwhelmed he's past words, past denial.

"Shh, shh, I know, I got you," Noctis soothes. "Not anymore," he promises. "I'm gonna treat you the way you deserve."

The words send a hot flush across Prompto's skin. He reaches for any bit of Noctis he can reach, palms sliding underneath his shirt to feel the firm muscles he's only seen before, tracing over scars—old ones from the past, the new ones he's been around to witness, some that he has to match.

Noctis leans back for a split-second, just long enough to grasp his shirt and toss it overhead, and then he's back, sweeping Prompto up in his arms, showering him in kisses, pressing them together wherever he can.

He guides one of Prompto's arms around his shoulders, his other hand snaking down and grinding the palm between Prompto's legs. Prompto gasps, arches, and he blinks up into Noctis's eyes, so turned on that even if he weren't in heat he never had a _chance_ of playing it cool.

"You're so sensitive," Noctis observes, running his hand over Prompto's dick and unabashedly watching the way he shakes and cries out. He leans down and noses at Prompto's neck, presses a kiss just under his ear. "Gods, you're perfect. You've been so patient. I'm gonna make you feel so good, gonna _worship_ you—"

After that, Prompto's _gone._ He's leaking uncontrollably, and Noctis's Alpha musk makes him answer in kind, wanting and open and desperate for his touch, _any_ touch. The praises pushes him over the edge and any chance at coherence goes with him, leaving him a breathless, needy wreck.

All he knows is Noctis's palms hot across his skin, parting his thighs; Noctis's lips trailing across his skin; Noctis's teeth biting into his neck, his shoulders, his chest; Noctis's hands, flipping him around, his hot hand on the back of neck, not painful but _firm—_

His whole world funnels down to Noctis's touch, Noctis's voice, Noctis's eyes, _Noctis Noctis Noctis._  
  
Prompto moans, utterly gone, and something about the sound must set Noctis off, because there aren't any words after that.

But Noctis has always been more of a man of action, and Prompto doesn't mind one bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


	6. Chapter 6

Noctis wakes slowly, but the creeping sensation of being watched speeds the process up much faster than usual.

The very _thought_ of someone in his space when there's a vulnerable Omega in his arms, only newly mated, makes his hackles rise, a wave of protectiveness overtaking him.

Squeezing Prompto to his chest a little closer in response, Noctis rises up from the cover of blankets on one elbow, eyes squinting against this morning sunlight.

The non-threatening scent of a Beta hits him first and goes a long way to defusing his baser, more violent urges even before he looks up and meets Ignis's eyes.

Ignis, who looks _decidedly_ unimpressed with the state he's found his king in. He stands there, silently judging, with his arms crossed. His expression is blank but for the tell-tale sharpness of his eyes, heralding a lecture.

Noctis, however, doesn't feel even slightly repentant, and meets Ignis's eyes evenly.

Coolly, he says, "Kinda busy here, Specs. Mind closing the blinds on the way out?"

The entire situation is, admittedly, a little embarrassing, mostly because he's talking to someone who's both brother and guardian while he lies in bed with someone he's very obviously just had sex with. Uncomfortable, sure, but not enough to make Noctis regret his actions, or be ashamed of who he was caught with; let Ignis look, it saves him the trouble of having to explain later.

"I don't know how you got past us," and here Ignis's eyes narrow; Noctis meets them—not _innocently,_ but definitely without guilt. "But this was _precisely_ the situation I was trying to avoid."

"Why?"

"Because I knew you would lose control," Ignis responds bluntly. "Your mental state has been rather unstable as of late—albeit understandably so—and this sort of thing would only serve to distract you. Or worse, be seized as an outlet for your frustrations."

The words and the censure in them make Noctis stiffen. The arm wrapped around Prompto's shoulders squeezes a bit tighter.

"What are you implying?"

Ignis seems completely unruffled to the sudden change in the air, the anger Noctis is seeping in waves, the sharp, expectant air of magic hanging ominously around them.

"And here I thought I was being rather obvious," he says placidly. "Noctis, at times you can be incredibly selfish, and I don't believe you are above taking advantage of Prompto's feelings to satisfy your own desire."

The words are cruel; a dagger to the back would have hurt less.

The anger isn't entirely successful at disguising the hurt from his voice.

"Is that really what you think of me?"

Ignis sighs then, his severe mein dropping into something much more tired and sympathetic.

"What I think, Noctis, is that you are only human. A human who's recently been dealt an enormous amount of trauma without any time to process it. Someone who might take advantage of a few hours without any higher brain functions with someone he trusts. I don't truly think ill of you, Noctis. Only realistically."

Noctis is still more offended and hurt than anything else, but Ignis's words reassure him he hasn't thought of Noctis as a heartless _monster_ his whole life.

Noctis looks down at Prompto, where his face is tucked into Noctis's chest, his breathing deep and even, face smooth and innocent in repose. It's a little strange, to see those eyes closed and without their usual mischeivous spark, to see him so still when he's usually full of restless energy, but it's not bad. It's a calm Prompto never has when he's awake.

Noctis strokes a bit of hair off his face, tracing from temple to cheek.

"Well, it's not like that," he murmurs.

A quiet moment stretches between them as they both consider Prompto.

"This is certainly the most peaceful he's looked in quite some time," Ignis remarks. "Especially in light of recent events."

At Noctis's questioning look, Ignis elaborates, "I believe the stress was only in part due to his cycle. He was quite worried about our store of supplies, not to mention the gil we earned. Just yesterday he fretted that our hunts nearby wouldn't be enough to cover our extended stay. He was wracked with guilt to have wasted our time here on something so frivolous as his comfort."

Noctis snorts and resumes his petting. "Of course he was."

He can feel Ignis watching him, but waits patiently. Eventually, Ignis asks, "You really do care for him, don't you?"

Noctis looks up, not expecting the question. Still, he doesn't hesitate.

"I love him," he confesses, looking Ignis square in the eyes. "More than anything."

Ignis blinks, clearly shocked. But soon a smile, pleased and relieved, blooms on his face.

"It's just as well, then," he replies. "Since Prompto's really quite taken with you."

Noctis grins. "Glad to hear it."

Ignis straightens slightly, smoothly sliding back into his role as the group's organizer and schedule-keeper.

"Well, in any case, you both need showers. Noctis, now that you've been appraised of the situation, you shall be taking over Prompto's care, as well as delivering his meals. I can manage refreshing the water and cleaning Prompto, however, while you're washing up."

"No," Noctis denies easily, not fond of the thought of someone else taking care of Prompto so intimately. Last night is still too fresh, his urge to protect still fierce. "I can do it."

Ignis's brow arches. "Are you sure you're up to the challenge?"

Noctis rolls his eyes. This is _Prompto,_ after all. At the end of the day, Noctis is his best friend and thusly the _best_ and most _qualified_ person for the job. "I think I can handle it."

"Very well then, I'll leave you to it. Breakfast in an hour?"

Noctis gives his assent, already sliding back under the blankets to catch a few more minutes of sleep. Now that the confrontation is over, his body is quick to remind him he's very much still in bed and should take advantage of it. He nestles himself beneath the blankets with Prompto, arms around him, face burrowing in the crown of his hair.

Ignis's voice abruptly pulls him from his drowsy state, however, when he asks, "Do I want to know why my dagger is sticking out of your headboard?"

Noctis's eyes fly open, staring unseeingly into the golden strands on Prompto's head. His face feels hot.

"Um," he says eloquently.

* * *

Cradled in Noctis's arms, feeling the strength of his hold, the fierceness of his heartbeat and it's steady drum against his ear, Prompto smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Ho-kay!_ Not gonna lie, the reason this update took so long was because, for one, I have been working a _ton_ of extra hours, and two, I really, _reeeeeeeeeally_ wrestled with the idea of inserting an extra chapter, detailing their night together. 
> 
> But after much time, deliberation, and soul-searching, I decided to keep the story as I originally wrote it. Inserting a chapter before this one, no matter how I re-worked it, kept feeling disjointed and awkward, and just wouldn't flow right. I feel bad, since this is ABO and everyone comes to these stories _for_ explicit content, but I've always written ABO non-traditionally, and I guess that's evident here.
> 
> HOWEVER! If there's enough interest, I've been toying with the idea of writing a separate one-shot story with just the explicit scene. If you're interested, let me know! Who's POV you'd prefer, or both, emphasis on dynamics or not, maybe some sort of epilogue? I'm open to suggestions!
> 
> In any case, big, giant, _effusive_ thanks to everyone who left a comment! I'm always so grateful and I love looking back at them from time to time, to motivate me to keep writing. I hope this final chapter was worth the wait, and thanks again for reading!
> 
> Until next time! (・ωｰ)～☆


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